


Puzzle Pieces

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post - The Winds of Winter, Threesome - F/F/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This idea just whacked me on the head and needed to be started. What happens after the end of the wars, after Daenaerys has claimed the Iron Throne successfully, and at first sight it looks as if everything has fallen into place, but suddenly, it becomes clear that there are some pieces left in the puzzle that still have to be sorted out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, this is just an idea, a beginning, and I still don't know if it's worthwhile to go on and work on it. Feedback & concrit highly welcome, as always. Since I'm already working on various other projects I't take my time here. In case I decide to go on with it revisions as well as changes with regard to ratings and characters tags may be expected.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own my works of fanfiction. I do not profit from the stories or drawings, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and settings go to the respective original author or artist.

The voyage had been exhausting, even more so in her state and with all the melting snow turning the roads into mush. Sansa placed a protective hand on her swelling belly. She did not feel well, though it had less to do with her pregnancy and more with the fact that she was back in King's Landing. Apart from the omnipresent black banners with the red three-headed dragons the Red Keep still looked very much the same like it had done back during the days of her suffering.  
Sansa had not wanted to come, had not wanted to bring along her twins, her younger son, or the unborn spark of life that was growing within her. However, when the queen called it was impossible to decline the wish. Sansa had not seen Daenaerys for six years, and it was understandable that sooner or later, the queen would want to see her again.  
With a deep sigh Sansa sat down on the bed in the guest room they had been allocated. It was a comfortable chamber, there was no denying that. On hearing steps she turned around and looked to the open door. Jaime was standing in the frame, smirking.  
“Everything all right?”  
“Yes, thank you. Is Brienne's room next door?”  
“Yes, indeed. It's a nice room fitting for a sworn shield. How very convenient for us to have her close here, too.”  
“What about little Tyrion and Cat and Addam?”  
“They've got a room two doors down the corridor. Tilda is with them, she'll have a cot there. Oh, and Brienne is still down in the yard. You won't believe who's here: her father! She ran into the Evenstar outside, right next to the stables.”  
“You don't say so! What a wonderful surprise!”  
“Looks as if the old man had to travel here when he heard we'd be coming. And it doesn't end here. Guess who I saw in front of the armoury!”  
“You don't mean...”  
“Yes, it was him! Still as ugly as he used to be, and limping quite a bit, but otherwise he looks pretty much the same at first sight. Almost no grey hair, unlike myself. Wonder how he did it. His years at the Quiet Isle have preserved his body well.”  
“What do you mean – the same at first sight?”  
Jaime became serious.  
“The Quiet Isle seems to have made him quiet, actually. No angry barking. No acid comment when he saw me. No foul language even. But there wasn't much life in him either. He didn't look like a man who has found peace.”  
Sansa felt as if a lead ingot was placed on her heart.  
“Has the queen already decided what will happen to him?”  
“Yes. The episode at the Saltpans has been cleared up, and it's like we always thought: he had nothing to do with it. As you can imagine Daenaerys doesn't like the name “Clegane” very much, but she's intelligent enough to see that Sandor isn't his brother. I mean – she forgave even me and pardoned me, so in comparison it must have been easy for her to deal with him. She has made him Lord of the Twins, and tomorrow he'll marry the last surviving Frey girl. Lady Stoneheart was really thorough before her second death, wasn't she?”  
“Sandor Clegane will marry? Tomorrow?”“Yes, we came just in time. One of the queen's marriage matches again. Like ours.”  
Sansa felt more than a little dizzy and laid back. Jaime came closer and sat down on the bed next to her.  
“It's all a little too much for you, isn't it, Sansa?”  
“Yes, I think so.”  
“Will you be able to see him tomorrow? I know you didn't part on the best terms after the Battle of the Blackwater.”  
“Don't worry. It was such a long time ago. What are you going to do now?”  
“I'd like to see Tyrion's grave. And... probably Cersei's. And Joff's and Tommen's. If you don't mind.”  
“No, I don't. You know what? I'll come along to see Tyrion's grave. After all, he was my first husband. And not the worst.”  
Jaime smiled sadly.  
“You'd never want to see Harry's grave, would you?”  
“No, never. It was good he was burned, so he couldn't become a wight.”  
Sansa sighed.  
Then, she said in a pronouncedly animated tone: “Right. Let's get up and not lose any time!”  
She grabbed Jaime's left hand and pulled him upright. Her husband laughed and stood up. Together, they walked to the lichyard with the graves. On their way, they didn't meet a single face they knew for which Sansa was grateful. Her heart was still beating heavily and her brain kept repeating one single sentence: Sandor Clegane was about to marry!

 

When they came back to their rooms, little feet came suddenly running down the corridor in their wing.  
“Daddy!” Cat called, jumped into Jaime's arms, and her father laughed and swirled her around. A short distance behind were Tyrion on his shorter legs and little Addam, who had just learned how to walk upright. Sansa grabbed the merrily squealing Tyrion and hurled him around like Jaime was doing with the boy's twin. Then, Jaime was done with Cat, hoisted Addam up and let him “fly”, even if his movements were always a little cautious because of his golden hand, which could not get a proper hold on the little body.  
Next, Shadowlint plodded out of what had to be Brienne's room, long, rough, pink tongue lolling out. When Sansa saw the animal, she grinned and patted her soft fur. How Shaggydog had been able to fall for a gentle poodle in Winterfell would likely remain a mystery forever, and how the new and the old gods had been able to produce such a funny mixture was an everlasting secret as well: the crossbreed had the size of a direwolf, a wolf's nuzzle and tail, but long, dark, fluffy, silken curls, gentle eyes and big lop ears.  
“Shady! Over here!” little Tyrion called, and the wolfdog trotted towards him and gave the boy's face a good, slobbering kiss. Tyrion, who was – with the exception of his red hair and blue eyes – a younger version of his deceased uncle, squealed again and everybody laughed.  
Finally, Brienne appeared on the scene as well. She was still wearing her chainmail outfit from the voyage.  
“My Lady, have you heard?”  
“About your father? Yes! How wonderful! Will we meet him at dinner?”  
“Yes, sure. He's looking forward to meeting you. He has already had an audience with the queen and is still very impressed. When will you meet Queen Daenaerys?”  
“About two hours from now. We'll need you at our side.”  
The large, freckled warrior woman nodded, then turned to wild little Cat, who looked so much like Arya, hoisted the girl on her hips and asked: “Now, little lady, where do you have your wooden sword? We must practice tomorrow!”  
“Yes, I know, Brienne, but I can't find it. Tilda is looking everywhere.”  
Next, Tyrion wanted to know: “Mother, have you met uncle Bran already?”  
“Didn't I tell you? There is no heart tree in the Godswood, so we can't hear him here.”  
Tyrion pouted. He had strong powers and could hear Bran's voice in the heart trees as easily as her; he could also slip into animals' skins, even at his young age.  
Sansa thought back to how it had been nearly omniscient Tree Bran who had spoken to her after her betrothal in Winterfell and forgiven Jaime in the first place, how her little brother had helped her in this way to finally establish a friendship with the man she had been about to marry at that time. Sansa also remembered how Queen Daenaerys had come to the north on her dragons and had helped to push back the forces of the Others. In the fights against the undead creatures from the north Jaime had fought valiantly, in spite of being left-handed, and his absolute devotion for the preservation of mankind had caused the Mother of Dragons to pardon a man whom she had originally intended to execute for kingslaying.  
How intense those days had been! She didn't wish them back, no. Times were better now in Casterly Rock. Her children gave her much joy, and Jaime was a good consort, a true friend and a wonderful father. It was not the passionate, all-encompassing love she had dreamed of as a girl and that Jaime had found with Brienne some three years ago when the warrior woman had come back from Braavos with Arya, but Sansa's and Jaime's relationship was still so much better than everything she had had before.  
After repugnant Petyr Baelish and lousy Harry the Heir she had learned for the first time that intimacy could feel good. Jaime was a deft, patient lover, and he had helped her soul and body to heal as best he could. He had his own wounds, and Sansa cared for him as well. Their children made them happy, and that little Tyrion suffered from the same ailment like his uncle had made them sad, because they knew how the world would look upon him, no matter how wonderful and intelligent and amiable he was; so they gave their son even more love and furthered him as best they could. He was five now, and he could already read and write and when he spoke he often sounded like a grown-up, which made them very proud of their first-born.  
When Brienne had entered their life things had even improved, unexpected as it was. Jaime had come alive in a way he had not been before, and that made Sansa happy. She simply couldn't be jealous of a woman as lovable as Brienne, a woman who had given her back her sister Arya. It had turned out that Brienne was barren, so she loved Sansa's and Jaime's children with an intensity as if they were hers as well.  
Sansa knew that there was a lot of gossip around about their unique relationship. People didn't understand how she could accept Brienne as her sworn shield and be friends with her, but the three of them didn't care overly. They all had something the other two needed. It simply worked surprisingly well.  
Smiling, Sansa returned to her room where a bath had been prepared for her while she had been away.  
“Cat, come here, you can bathe with me!”  
“Oh nononono, please, I don't want to bathe!”  
It was always the same. Sansa remembered that Arya had been just like that in Winterfell as a child.  
After she and her daughter had soaked themselves it was Jaime's turn, and he bathed with Tyrion. Sansa looked at her husband in the tub and thought that even though he was greying he was still pleasant to look upon and fit. She remembered how surprised he had been in the early days of their marriage that the stump of his arm didn't repulse her. Like herself he had needed to gather new self-esteem for his body. That he had been so successful in the War of the Wights had only been a first – though important – step.  
These days he had found a peace and happiness he often said he could never have imagined.  
“Sansa, what's up? You're looking at me as if I were a mouse in a corner and you a cat in front of me. What do I owe those hungry looks?”  
“Ah, but I AM a cat if you want to have it like that. A lioness, to be precise.”  
Jaime chuckled.  
“You're as much of a lioness as I am a wolf, rest assured. And you're not answering my questions.”  
“I was just thinking about the time after our wedding day and how everything has improved over the years.”  
“But I'm getting old. The women aren't whistling after me as they were wont to do.”  
“You must be really getting old – not because of your looks, but because you must be turning deaf then.”  
Jaime laughed and Sansa thought how much less arrogant it sounded than it done when she had first got to know him in Winterfell.  
“Hurry up now, old man! We need to meet the queen punctually.”

 

Queen Daenaerys was as beautiful as a woman could possibly be. Her silvery hair, her amethyst eyes, her regal posture – in many ways she was what the Seven Kingdoms had needed after fat King Robert and all those years of war. She was sitting on the Iron Throne as if she belonged there. Jon was sitting next to her. Even if the Night's Watch didn't exist any more after the Wall had come down, he still wore black clothes at all times. He gave Sansa and Jaime a cordial look, and it was clear that later, in less official surroundings, he would hug them properly.  
Daenaerys welcomed them politely and congratulated them Jaime and her for her pregnancy.  
She smiled and said: “It gladdens my heart to see the two of you so content.”  
Then, she went on and said gravely, but with beaming eyes: “I need to tell you something most extraordinary. You see, as an experienced mother I need someone who can give me advice, and this is why I asked you to come here. Jon's friend, Maester Samwell, has finally found a cure against the curse on my womb – and I am with child now, too. We'll give birth around the same time.”  
There was a unison gasp from all the courtiers present in the hall. Jaime's and Sansa's eyes grew wide as well, and then, Sansa exclaimed: “Oh, Your Grace, how wonderful! My sincerest congratulations! And Jon, oh Jon, that's such great news! Of course, I will help you in whichever way I can!”  
Now that the secret was out Sansa could see that the queen's middle was a little fuller than it had been in the past. And suddenly, all the people in court were clapping, and stamping their feet and shouting “hooray!” in sheer joy. As it looked these were good times not only for Sansa, but for the realm as well.  
Order was given that there would be a feast in the evening. The audience was over for the moment, but they'd meet in private again, and then, she'd also be able to talk to Jon. She and Jaime walked over to the side and watched Queen Daenaerys greet other jubilant subjects.  
Suddenly, however, the strangest feeling crept up and down her spine and caused goosebumps to rise on her skin. She was being watched. Sansa turned her head discreetly... and met the gaze of two slate-coloured eyes. There was the tiniest spark to be seen in them. Sansa felt as if she was being hit on the head by a club, her hands started to tremble, her breath hitched, so her lips parted a little, her heart started to hammer away, something inside of her somersaulted – it wasn't the baby – and she looked on, spellbound, and thought she'd drown in those deep grey eyes.  
Sandor!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your feedback and support! I actually felt the need to go on, and this is the result. Hopefully you'll like it; I'll be - as always - very grateful for concrit! :-)

Jaime had been right. He still looked very much the same, barely a day older than when they had parted all those years ago. The scars were still exactly the same, his height as well, of course. There were little crowfeet at the corners of his eyes, but he had barely a grey hair. Amazing.  
After the end of the queen's audience there was so much bustling from all the courtiers around that Sansa lost sight of him, but she got another chance during the feast in the evening. As the future Lord of the Twins he was allowed to sit on the dais, a little down the table. A girl was sitting next to him, Yolanda, the last surviving Frey in the Seven Kingdoms. She was mousy, very thin and of approximately about the age Sansa had been at the time of the Battle of the Blackwater. The girl refused all the food she was offered by her – very gloomy and taciturn – fiancé and flinched from every movement and every shadow, which was no surprise, given that she had witnessed how her family had been decimated and cut down over the years. Normally, she would have never appeared in any genealogy, being the younger daughter of a younger daughter of a younger brother of Walder Frey. It had been Lady Stoneheart who had made her an heiress by killing off her family. Sansa remembered the scene when Drogon, the queen's dragon, had burned Sansa's undead mother to ashes so Lady Stoneheart had been refused her last bit of revenge. The remains of Lady Catelyn's body had been taken to Winterfell and put to rest alongside with the bones of Lord Eddard Stark, deep down in the entrails of the crypt.  
Sansa forced herself to come back to the presence. Of course, she couldn't stare at Sandor and his betrothed all the time, so she turned to Jon, who was sitting next to her; and she started to pat Ghost, who was lying under the table, silent as always.  
“Have you heard anything of Arya lately?”  
“She's still on an errand with the Ser Davos. I guess that she'll be sailing under the legs of the Titan of Braavos just as we're speaking. She should be back in a few weeks.”  
Sansa smiled. Her wild little sister was as adventurous as always and could never stay in the same place for long.  
Jon went on: “I got a raven from Rickon yesterday. He's fine and the restoration of Winterfell is well under way, now that the worst winter storms are over even in the north. And he seems to have fallen for a Mormont girl.”  
If this was true, it was a rare occasion of coinciding personal and political interests. The status of the Mormont family had risen since Ser Jorah had brought the Targaryen queen back and had died for her a hero's death in the War of the Wights.  
So Sansa asked: “Oh? Is that so? Do you think we can expect a marriage soon then?”  
Jon nodded.  
“He sounded deadly serious about it. I must say that I like the idea. The bear women are strong and confident – just what Rickon needs. He could never get along with a meek lady from the south.”  
The tiniest giggle escaped Sansa's lips, Jon grinned and added something else: “And before I forget: Shaggy has sired more pups.”  
On Sansa's other side, Jaime leaned in now with a smirk and commented: “Please tell me that it's not a mix of wolf and poodle again!”  
Jon's grin widened an he said ominously: “No. Not this time. This time it's worse. This time it's a mix with a dachshund – and the little ones have got Shaggy's fur, but also the mother's short legs.”  
They all erupted with laughter and attracted many looks from up and down the table, but Sansa didn't care. She couldn't remember ever having laughed like this in the Red Keep.  
Then, it was Daenaerys who bent forward and asked Jon: “Snowflake of my life, you haven't been telling them about the Winterfell pups, have you?”  
By now, tears of laughter were streaming down Jon's long face, and Dany rolled up her eyes.  
“Sansa, I tell you I've heard nothing else since yesterday evening. If he goes on like this he'll end as Drogon's dessert, I promise you! How can a man who has been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, who has been revived by a miracle, and who has become a master killer of wights behave so childishly?”  
Sansa shrugged her shoulders and answered: “He wasn't childish when he was a child, but always so very serious. Now, he might think he needs to catch up on childishness.”  
The queen groaned back: “Gods be good! Then I'll have two children soon!”  
Jaime couldn't hold back and teased her: “Who says you're not with twins? In that case it would be three children.”  
Daenaerys made a Dothraki sign against evil spirits, and they all laughed again.  
Next, Jaime addressed the Evenstar, who was sitting next to Brienne, across from him, and asked him about what the recent situation was like on Tarth. Their conversation flowed back and forth and at some point Sansa noticed that her husband and her sworn shield, who was off duty for now, were playing their usual feet games under the table again, just like they often did at Casterly Rock, too. Sansa shook her head inwardly – Jon was obviously not the only one who was behaving childishly.

After their opulent meal – wild boar goulash soup, roasted peacocks decorated with their own feathers, chestnuts in creamy red wine sauce, potted hare, pickled mushrooms, smoked salmon, mashed parsnip, suckling pig, spicy locusts à la Mereen, glazed cinnamon tartelettes, peach pudding with chopped almonds and... Sansa's beloved lemon cakes – well, after this meal, the tables below the dais were put away to make room for dancing.  
Jaime took Sansa's hand and off they went. Brienne, who had made an exception and was wearing a simple gown for once, didn't like the combination of music and rhythmic movements due to her height, but at least her father coaxed her into a dance. Jon and Daenaerys sped off to the dance floor as well. Sansa was delighted to see how elegant Jon's movements had become since he had married the Targaryen queen. The two were an amazing couple, and also impressive when they were riding a dragon side by side – Sansa had seen it often enough in the north during the War of the Wights.  
When she looked around again she couldn't see either Sandor Clegane nor his fiancée on the dais any more. Had she not seen the man's gloomy expression and Yolanda Frey's fearful eyes she might have suspected a private meeting before their marriage. As it was, however, the two had just to be avoiding the fun. She sighed.  
“Everything all right, Sansa?”  
Jaime was looking at her seriously, so she flashed him a smile and answered: “Oh yes! Why isn't the music starting?”  
Just at that moment, the first notes were played and they started to swirl through the room. Next, Sansa danced with Jon, and when Brienne flushed a deep red and declined Jaime's wish to dance with her self-consciously he ended up with Daenaerys.  
Afterwards, Sansa and the queen stopped dancing, too, because of their pregnancies. Sansa felt a little nauseous after all the food and made for a balcony to get some fresh air.  
When she opened the door she suddenly noticed a huge, dark shape against the night sky.

“So the Lady Lannister has found her way here?” a flat, raspy voice asked.  
At once, Sansa's heart started to flutter madly. It was strange, but for some reason it made her sad that Sandor Clegane didn't call her “little bird”.  
“Just like you, as it seems.”  
She made two steps, stood next to him and looked him in the face.  
“I see that the pretty girl has become a real lady and has learned to face the ugliness of life. How does she like her recent cage? Well enough, by the look of it.”  
“I don't live in a cage any more. It is more like an aviary. There is room enough to fly.”  
Sandor breathed deeply and was quiet for a moment.  
Then: “I always wanted to tell you one thing.”  
Sansa was curious: “What is it?”  
Sandor put his hand under her chin, like he had done so often in the past, only his grip wasn't harsh this time.  
His answer was short and concise: “It was me who killed the Mockingbird.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Reference to non-explicit sexual content and reference to past violence/gore.

Sansa stood stock still and could only look at the huge, scarred man in front of her. She had not known. Of course not. No-one had. The whole affair had been so utterly mysterious... but come to think of it the handwriting in the affair had been clear.  
Had she still been a teenager Sansa would have chirped a “thank you”, but there were simply no words grand enough to thank Sandor Clegane properly for what he had done.  
“No ladylike songs for me?” Sandor commented. “That's just as well. And now I've got to retire. I've got to marry tomorrow.”  
There wasn't an ounce of enthusiasm in his voice.  
He turned around and limped towards the ball room again.  
Suddenly, Sansa reached out with her hand and put it on his arm lightly to stop him for just another moment.  
Then, she stated: “Baelish deserved everything you did to him.”  
Sandor Clegane retorted: “I see – the Lady Lannister has guts now. That's more than Littlefucker had in the end. Formed a nice rope, his ones did. And his last song wasn't one befitting a Mockingbird, but then again, he had never any dignity in him to begin with.”  
And without another word, he moved into the room again and left Sansa behind. Her hand was still tingling and warm from the short touch.

She retired much later, because she was excited from all the things she had experienced over the day, plus she was so very happy to be reunited with Jon. They talked a lot about Winterfell and the north, but also about the dragons that had started to nest. Clueless as they all had been they had assumed Viserion to be male – but of late he had turned out to be a Viseria, and now, a new dragon's egg was being incubated.  
Those were exciting news for sure. No wonder that it was well after midnight when Sansa finally excused herself and said good night.  
She was just changing into a night shift in her bedroom, and she had already released her maid, when suddenly the door opened. Sansa's hands flew to her private parts in shock to cover herself.  
“What a sweet sight,” a slightly slurring Jaime stated.  
Sansa relaxed and answered: “You're good at scaring people. I didn't expect you. Is everything all right with Brienne?”  
“She's been touchy all evening; perhaps you've noticed. Seems to be her... regular female ailment. But fuck, if I have to explain my presence in my own bedroom and in front of my wife something is amiss in our marriage.”  
Jaime made a dark face.  
Sansa was fast to apologise: “I didn't want to sound it like a reproach.”  
Her husband, however, didn't care overly for her words and looked at her body instead.  
“Haven't seen you in such a state of undress since well before we made little Addam. What a beautiful woman you still are. I really haven't taken good care of you over these last years.”  
Jaime wasn't totally wrong. Their few and rare last couplings had happened in the dark.  
Sansa approached her husband, combed through his greying hair with her fingers and smelled a weak alcohol hilatosis, now that she was so close to him.  
She was strangely restless and had been so all evening. Her pregnancy moods were well-known. Tonight, she realised and flushed red, she was in acute need of some gentle touches.  
Befuddled as Jaime was he didn't need any extra motivation, and together, they sank onto the bed.

Later, they lay there, nestled in each other's arms, tired and contented. Sansa was so relaxed that it occurred to her that in this state she might either utter something wonderful or blow the moment to pieces, so she kept her mouth shut.  
“No ladylike songs for me?” a raspy voice echoed in her mind.  
Jaime, however, had no such qualms; his tongue had always been fast, sometimes faster than was good for him.  
“You're such a wonderful woman. Can't remember I've ever seen you as passionate as tonight. I've neglected you. You'd deserve a better husband.”  
“Hush,” Sansa retorted and put her finger on his lips. “You are a good husband. The best one of the three of you.”  
“That's no real feat, after what you've been through.”  
“Jaime, I think I'm happier with you than I'd have been with most other men in Westeros.”  
“Most? Not all? Who would have made you happier?”  
“I don't know. How could I possibly name someone without having tried him out? But we're talking rubbish.”  
Jaime frowned in the darkness, Sansa could feel it against her skin.  
Then, he revealed: “Do you know that Brienne has got a guilty conscience, because I usually sleep in her bed, and not in the one of my wife? I think she sent me to you on purpose tonight. She's got a good heart.”  
“Yes, she has. And she needn't feel bad because of me. She loves you and makes you happy.”  
To be honest, Sansa had quite a bit of a guilty conscience herself.  
Jaime hesitated, then answered darkly: “It's true – but you make me happy as well, in your own way. Fuck, when it comes to love I'm a creep. First a twin. Now two women at the same time.”  
Sansa's heart started to beat faster. Her husband had never talked about loving her, and now the context was such a weird one. She didn't know exactly how to react.  
Finally, she settled for an oracular answer: “Well, we can't choose what our heart should feel. And more often than not our feelings are as complicated as life itself.”  
Jaime sighed and buried his face against her chest silently. He felt vulnerable, Sansa thought. He had always been someone who wanted to make those happy he loved, whatever the cost and no matter the mistakes he made. Cersei had used that characteristic trait against him and manipulated him so thoroughly that he had barely known what was good or bad; and now, he was oscillating between her and Brienne and tried to suit them both. No, not only them both, actually, but his children as well.  
Again and again Sansa mulled things over, her thoughts starting to run in circles. Finally, her head grew foggy and she dozed off. Perhaps it was because of the warm body at her side – her slumber was untroubled and deep, and she only woke up late in the morning.  
Jaime had just risen; he was putting on some clothes, but his eyes were still heavy with sleep.  
Yawning he said: “Awake, too? We should better hurry up then, or we'll be late for the wedding.”  
From one moment to the next, Sansa sat bolt upright. Gods, yes! How had she been able to forget!?  
Swiftly, she scrambled out of bed and ignored the slight nausea that plagued her in the mornings due to her pregnancy. With the help of first her husband and later a maid she was made presentable at top speed. And all the while her heart felt strangely heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this story is flowing more freely then I thought it would. I've never written an intimate Sansa/Jaime scene before, so I don't know if I did them justice. At the moment, I think we haven't seen enough of Brienne so far, so I'll keep that in mind for the next chapters. Comments and concrit highly welcome, as always.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok - let's have a new POV, otherwise the Jaime/Brienne relationship could not really be displayed.

 

***

 

Brienne had stood up early. She had not slept much, since her tummy had hurt so much. In the morning, she had immediately walked to Maester Samwell to get a tea or a concoction that would alleviate the pain. The maester had still been sleepy, but friendly and understanding as always. He didn't wear the official chain any more since he had married a wildling woman, so Oldtown had sent another maester to the capital, but Samwell still had his impressive knowledge and had thus been appointed the king's and queen's private healer. Brienne had come to like Jon's friend when she had met him in White Harbour the first time. He had been on his way from the Wall – or rather the ruins that had been left of it – to King's Landing. She had been travelling from Braavos to the remains of the Wall where Sansa and Jaime had resided at that time and had still been involved in the fighting of a few last undead creatures. (She had been with Arya, whom she had finally found in Essos.) So after all that had transpired it was no surprise that she decided to seek out Samwell, not Maester Cloyden.

 

The tea she had been given by the healer had been very helpful; with renewed energy she had been able to “train” with little Catelyn, who had risen early, too, like so many children. A proper sword training with a grown soldier was still out of the question until she'd feel much better, but it was nice swing to at least a wooden sword in play.

 

Later, Brienne had washed and clad herself in good, clean clothes. She didn't like it much, but for the wedding ceremony she would wear a dress again. With her moon blood upon her, skirts that could be lifted were easier to handle. Later, she would switch into her trousers and her tunic again. As soon as possible.

 

In Jaime's and Sansa's bedroom everything was still quiet. Brienne suspected that the two had made use of their night together. As much as she loved Jaime and wanted to have him for herself Brienne often felt bad that he usually spent his nights with her, and not with his wife. Had Lady Sansa not made it clear to her that she wasn't against her relationship with Jaime, Brienne would have never allowed him into her bed.

 

And even as it was, her sense of honour interfered with her feelings of love. She tried not to be jealous when Jaime bedded Sansa from time to time, but it was not easy; Brienne simply loved her one-handed lion so much. At the same time, she also adored and loved Sansa for being such a wonderful, generous, loyal person and wanted her to be happy. That the Lady Lannister could accept her husband's truelove, even treat her as a friend was likely unparalleled in the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Brienne sighed deeply and decided to go to the kitchen for a snack since she had not managed to eat much after she had risen. On her way, she came across Ser Addam Marbrand with his eye patch. The man had lost his left eye in the War of the Wights. Well, at least he had survived, in contrast to so many others.

 

Brienne smiled at the man, who was the Sevenfather of Jaime's younger son, and the copper-haired warrior smiled back.

 

“Brienne, how nice to see you! I saw you yesterday during the audience with Sansa and Jaime, but I couldn't come to the feast in the evening to talk to all of you.”

 

“Oh, what's wrong?” Brienne asked, worried. “Is it about Shireen?”

 

Addam nodded seriously.

 

“She'll give birth soon, it could happen any day, and it is her first child, as you know. Things aren't easy for her and the measter is with her every day. I sometimes wish I hadn't married her last year, what with the age difference and everything, but Shireen doesn't want to hear anything of it.”

 

Brienne understood. She had seen how Ser Addam had treated her in a friendly way back at the Wall, but without any further thoughts. Shireen, however, had fallen for the man who was nicer to her than her own father. For years, Ser Addam had told himself that it was just the temporary crush of a teenager. Yet, her feelings could not be swayed, and with time, the man who had thought to end his life a bachelor had slowly melted and succumbed to the young woman whose body had been disfigured by Greyscales, but who had retained an innate grace no illness could ever destroy.

 

Brienne gave the man's arm a little squeeze and said: “I'll light a candle in the sept for you, your wife and the baby.”

 

Ser Addam thanked her and excused himself; of course, he wanted to return to Shireen.

 

Brienne continued on her way to the kitchen. There was still a little time left till the wedding ceremony, so she went to her father's room for a chat.

 

The Evenstar welcomed her, and they talked a little about what Brienne had just heard from Addam. They carefully avoided the topic of her relationship with Jaime and her own barrenness. The former was too sensitive a subject matter for her father, who had heard all the gossip about her, and the latter item was two painful for them both.

 

Afterwards, Brienne went back to her own chamber.

 

There, Jaime was already waiting for her.

 

He was bleary-eyed and said: “Oh my, Brienne, what a morning! We've overslept, and I've got a proper hangover. Sansa is being attended upon by her maid, so we'll be at the sept punctually. Have you been up long? And how do you feel?”

 

“Much better! Maester Samwell gave me some tea, and it helped.”

 

“Ah, how wonderful!”

 

Jaime smirked, and Brienne gave him a kiss. It started off as a chaste one, but somehow, things got out of hand after a few moments. That was what it was like between them.

 

After a while, Jaime moved away a little, his grin broadened and he teased her: “Yes, you've spoken truly, you ARE obviously feeling better now. Oh, and by the way – do I have to get used to you in dresses all of a sudden? Yesterday evening. Now. Wench, I guess it will be interesting when I lift your skirt with my blade in the training yard.”

 

“YOU!”

 

Brienne gave him a good punch and Jaime laughed wickedly, until he screwed up his face and moaned because of his hangover.

 

The warrior woman pretended not to feel any pity.

 

“By the way, Jaime, I've got the impression that Sansa's encounter with Clegane yesterday upset her quite a bit.”

 

The Lion turned serious and agreed: “The intensity of her reaction may be partly ascribed to her pregnancy moods, but yes, I think so, too. Well, once Sandor is married he and his young wife will leave for the Twins soon. There is a lot they've got to settle there. And I don't envy the man that he has to go where the Red Wedding took place. But for Sansa I feel that it will be better, if Sandor doesn't get too many chances to unsettle her any more. I wonder what exactly happened between them during the Battle of the Blackwater. Sansa has only told me about it in general terms, never the details.”

 

That gave Brienne pause.

 

“Do you think he...”

 

“No. Harry the Heir and Littlefinger were the only ones, and they were more than bad enough. A weaker woman than her would have broken, but not Sansa.”

 

“Yes, she's a real survivor.”

 

“So are you, Brienne, in your own way.”

 

Jaime smiled once again. They both needed another kiss and didn't hold back.

 

Finally, Brienne rumbled: “Right. We have to stop now, or we'll be really late. Let's pick up Sansa and go to the wedding.”

 

Jaime gave his assent, and off they marched, first to Sansa's bedroom and then to the sept.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_warning for character death_

 

 

Brienne had not seen so very much of Sandor Clegane before. It occurred to her that she might have seen hem when she had been on the Quiet Isle, but she had not made his acquaintance. Now, she watched the ugly, scarred man limp down the aisle of the sept from her own place amongst the spectators.

He was wearing fine clothes in the colours of his house, yellow and black. Somehow, that combination was becoming him. Yet, it didn't help to make him look any more... positive with reference to what was about to happen. His face was so sombre that Brienne thought Daenaerys had to realise that this match was a mistake.

This impression even intensified when the bride entered. Oh, she was wearing the finest silks, and a net with glistening pearls adorned her hair, but the yellow colour of her dress, which should have made her sparkle like a sunbeam instead caused her to look sickly, like a cheese, for her skin colour wasn't so much different from her dress. And the eyes were nothing more like empty holes; there was absolutely no life in them.

Next to Brienne, Jaime shook his head slightly; he too didn't think this wedding was a good idea. And Sansa, who was sitting on this other side of him looked as pallid as a marble statue. She was likely nauseous from both her pregnancy and the pathetic spectacle. Perhaps she was remembering her own first and second marriage, which had been so very disastrous.

When the bride had arrived at her groom's side the septon started the whole procedure.

While Sandor Clegane and Yolanda Frey were exchanging their vows Brienne noticed Sansa grab Jaime's left hand and press it as if she wanted to turn it into mush. Jaime, who was a little surprised, looked at his wife and tried to soothe her with a gentle look, but to no avail; Sansa simply averted her stony face from him as well as from the scene that was unfolding in front of her.

Brienne was starting to get worried. The whole thing affected Lady Sansa more than she would have expected. Hopefully, she didn't have a breakdown!

Luckily, the wedding was coming to an end. Sandor Clegane had put his cloak around his bride and given her a tiny peck on the cheek, which left her trembling like a dead leaf in a strong breeze. Brienne had to hold back a snort. True, the man was a ruffian and more than homely, what with those black-red scars, the ear that had been burned away and the little part where the jawbone shone through the skin – but Yolanda still didn't have to put on such a miserable show! Brienne was quite sure that Sansa had held herself much better at her own weddings.

 

Later, the people were sitting in the Great Hall and enjoyed food and drink and music – well everyone apart from the spouses and Sansa, as it looked.

Yolanda Clegane neither ate nor drank, like she had done the previous evening, and Sandor glowered into his cup silently and didn't react any more than absolutely necessary to any congratulation. Conversation with either of them was impossible.

Jaime and Sansa talked quietly amongst each other, and Sansa had put a protective hand on her belly. Again, Brienne was worried and hoped that there wouldn't be a miscarriage.

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the hall swung open, and a radiant Addam Marbrand, who had been absent before, stormed into the hall, his still full copper hair waving behind him. He hastened to congratulate the couple, bowed in front of the king and queen and then announced: “I've got a son! A healthy son! My firstborn! House Marbrand has got an heir!”

The people present reacted with hooting and cheering, clapping and stamping their feet. At once, the overall mood improved a lot, now that there was really a happy incident that could be celebrated. The Cleganes were soon nearly forgotten as a consequence.

 

When the tables below the dais were put to the side for the dancing Brienne decided that it was high time to sneak away to her room for a moment; due to her moon blood she simply needed to refresh herself. She gave Jaime's hand a gentle squeeze under the table and whispered into his ear, telling him that she would be absent for a few minutes. Jaime understood and patted her hip without attracting attention. Brienne could barely wait for her moon blood to be over; she wanted to have her beloved close again. With a sigh she stood up and left.

It took her a while and she cursed the damned skirts she wasn't accustomed to. When she was walking back through an inner yard she suddenly spotted a strange movement from the corner of her eyes and looked up. To her immense surprise there was a bright, lonely yellow speck on the battlements.

Lady Yolanda? Why had she left the feast and climbed up to the battlements? What on earth was she doing there??

Brienne was just about to call out to the young woman... when all of a sudden the bride heaved herself up, over the stone wall – and without hesitation or a single sound she jumped.

FMMMP!

In utter shock, Brienne's hand flew to her mouth. And then, she did what a warrior woman like her usually wasn't supposed to do: she started to scream at the top of her lungs.

 

 

***

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Nothing really spectacular today. Kind of an in-between chapter. Hope you'll still like it.

 

Sansa and Jaime had just been dancing – a slow pavane, so as not to overexercise pregnant Sansa – when the commotion started. On hearing Brienne's scream, they all froze, Sansa could only shove Jaime in the direction of the entrance, and at once, her husband was off.

Then, there were more shouts and screams, and immediately, Sansa felt cold dread nesting in her heart. What had happened to her sworn shield? Oh, seven gods, hopefully she was alive!

Suddenly, there were shouts: “Lord Clegane! Lord Clegane!”, and “Come!”, and “Holy Mother!” and the like.

Sandor stood up from his chair on the dais, and with his bulky frame he divided the masses that were pouring out of the Great Hall.

Sansa followed at the rear; there didn't seem to be an imminent danger for her life, so again she rather tried to keep calm, due to her pregnancy, and not to overexercise herself.

When she was finally reaching the big entrance door, Jaime was coming into her direction again, and he was dragging a deeply upset, but otherwise unhurt Brienne with him. Together, they propelled the tall woman onto an abandoned bank in a corner, and Jaime embraced her.

Brienne sniffled: “She was all alone! Up there, on the battlements. She wanted this, I can tell you. I watched her. She didn't hesitate!”

“Shshhhh!” Jaime murmured and kissed her on the temple.

“What has happened?” Sansa asked.

Jaime turned his head, looked at her gravely and answered: “Yolanda Clegane. She killed herself. Jumped to her death.”

Sansa's hand flew to her mouth.

“Gods, no!”

She felt sick. For a moment, she averted herself and retched a little, but then, she managed to swallow the rising bile and to get a grip on herself.

At once, Jaime was worried and came over, but Sansa only waved her hand and mumbled: “No, no it's all right. I'm already getting better. Take care of Brienne!”

 

Later, some people came back to the hall, their faces still white, some with ruffled clothes and mussed hair after the stampede of all the people outside. Jon was leading a wide-eyed Daenaerys back in, followed by Ghost, and the queen sat down at the other end of the bench where Brienne was still being comforted.

Daenaerys spoke in a toneless voice and kept repeating herself: “I know it was not a marriage for love, but I don't understand she didn't give it a try. I feared Khal Drogo, I didn't love Hizdahr zo Loraq, and I barely knew you, Jon – and two of these matches turned out well. Really, why didn't Yolanda even try?”

Jon pulled Daenaerys onto his lap unceremoniously, hugged her close and commented: “You keep forgetting that many other woman are not as strong and adaptive as you. Or Sansa.”

Daenaerys retorted bitterly: “I've made too many mistakes over the years. Sent too many people to an early death. Shouldn't I have learned?”

Jon smiled a sad smile against the queen's cheek and answered: “We all keep making mistakes, despite our best intentions. Even a Mother of Dragons.”

Sansa had been listening, knelt and embraced Ghost. The direwolf licked her face in response.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her: Where was Sandor? Was anybody consoling him? What was he thinking about what had happened?

Determinedly, Sansa turned on her heels and marched out. There were still people running to and fro, but the dead body had seemingly already been removed. No huge, scarred man to be seen far and wide. Where had he gone? To his room? Somehow, that didn't sound likely.

Suddenly, Sansa had an idea: the armoury! He was a warrior. He liked weapons. She remembered how her father had always honed his sword under the Weirwood Tree in Winterfell when he had needed to think. Yes, sifting through and cleaning some weapons or chainmail sounded like what Sandor Clegane might do.

On swift feet she hustled to the armoury. Threw open the door to the building.

It was dark and empty.

Deserted.

Sansa paused, but another idea hit her: Sandor Clegane liked his horse very much, so he would surely be in the stable with his stallion.

Yet, the stable was empty, too, apart from the horses. She walked over to the black courser she recognised as his. She tried to pat his neck, but the steed only tried to bite her. Sansa shook her head slightly. That one was at least as vicious as he had always been.

Anyway. Now, Sansa's inspiration was gone. She didn't know where else to look.

 

Suddenly, she was met by a wave of nagging hunger. Sansa blushed. How could she feel the faintest appetite after everything that had just happened? Sweet Mother, this was really an unseasonable pregnancy craving!

She sighed and shrugged. Well, at least there would be lots of leftovers to be found in the kitchen, and since she hadn't found Sandor she could just as well give in to her needs. She needed something savoury. Meat.

With sure strides Sansa left the stables again and made for the kitchen wing. There was still a bit of a hullabaloo there in the wake of the suicide, but the employees still had to do their jobs, and everybody was hustling and bustling around while gossiping about the incident. Sansa had a horribly guilty conscience, but when she spied some little fancy pies with a hash filling she couldn't resist and grabbed no less than three of them.

When she had wolfed down the first two ones in an unusually un-ladylike manner and was just tearing into the third pie, brown gravy trickling down her chin, there was suddenly a voice behind her that sounded as if two woodsaws were grinding together: “You needed my handkerchief once. Looks as if you're in need of one again.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a doctor would put it: "This may hurt a little bit."

 

Sansa flushed a deep red. Gods, she was so deeply ashamed! Sandor handed her a napkin and she used it hurriedly.

“I know it's improper. Pregnancy cravings. Please believe my, I'm so s...”

Sandor interrupted her ramblings by giving a dismissive gesture.

“And I thought you had stopped chirping.”

His voice was flat, even strangely... remote. In spite – or rather BECAUSE – of his tone not being even half as sharp as it would have been in the past, his statement hurt her more than she would have ever thought.

One could say a lot, but when Sandor had snarled at her in the past, he had been angry – but at least, he had been alive.

This Sandor, however... he was... mooning around.

“How come you are here? At the kitchen?” Sansa asked.

Suddenly, Sandor looked around as if he was only realising now where he was.

“I don't know. I guess... I've been wandering around,” he admitted. “Well. Whatever.”

He shrugged and wanted to turn away and to leave – when Sansa suddenly took his hand. His fingers were icy, but at once, Sansa started to feel warm herself.

Sandor looked down at where she was touching him, confused. He wasn't used to being touched gently, even after all those years, that much was clear.

Perhaps she should let go of his hand... but she didn't.

“Come,” she said and started to pull him down the corridor.

“Where to?” asked Sandor, even more puzzled.

Sansa looked at the hearth fires in the kitchen and answered: “Some place that doesn't burn.”

After a split second of looking at her Sandor said: “You didn't come along with me that night.”

Sansa met his gaze and retorted: “I know. But YOU'll come along with me now.”

 

They had found a neglected solar in the wing reserved for visitors, and Sansa had pulled off the tarpaulin of a sofa. Sandor hadn't refused her, had rather followed her like a sheep. Sansa realised then that he did have a shock – which was surprising, given the fact that he had seen so much death in his life and that he had obviously not loved his bride.

But then again, Sansa thought about what the suicide could possibly mean for him. It was another piece of evidence of just how disgusting many people found him. Even his bride. He had been rejected, humiliated in the worst possible way – and now, he was completely alone again. The mere thought of this was so incredibly sad!

They sat down, and still, Sansa didn't let go of his hand. Sandor was so cold. She wanted... wanted to give him some warmth, fleeting as it would be.

“I've heard you were on the Quiet Isle?”

“Aye.”

“And during the War of the Wights?”

“Helped the Elder Brother heal the injured. As best I could. Before the winter I was a gravedigger, but in all the snow and with those undead creatures around... they chose someone else to tend to the pyres. For obvious reasons.”

“I see. I was in Winterfell when Rickon returned, at the Wall before it came down, at times in White Harbour...”  
“I know. I heard.”

That surprised Sansa no end. For a moment, she wanted to ask him why he had not come to see her. But then, she knew how stupid that question would have been. People had thought him dead – but had also believed him to be the butcher of the Saltpans. Plus his general bad reputation as the Hound, the southern Lannister Dog. Handicapped as he was with his limp he would have never made it to her. Yet, he had managed to kill disgusting Baelish.

A rush of strong emotions swept over her.

Suddenly, she leaned forwards, wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek against his.

“Sansa!” he blurted out, totally dumbfounded.

Oh. He was using her first name! He had never done that.

Sansa clung to him as if her life depended on it.

Little spasms caused his muscles to tremble.

“What are you doing?” he pressed out.

Sansa chuckled lightly: “And I thought I was the one chirping stupid questions.”

Then, she became serious again and whispered: “It's so good to see you again. I wish it was under happier circumstances. Let me hold you. Please!”

“Sansa!”

His exclamation sounded like a sob.

She leaned back a little, cupped his cheeks and looked, deep, deep into his slate eyes. Finally, those eyes were coming alive again. There was a wild fight reflected in them.

Sandor didn't know what to do, so it was Sansa who acted once more. Ever so gently, she tilted her face up to his and laid her lips on his half-burned mouth.

It was as if she was struck by a bolt of lightening, and she started to pant.

Sandor's brain seemed incapable of processing the new impulse and of coming up with an adequate reaction.

Sansa moved back a tiny fraction, just enough to put her mouth onto his again. She feared that he might push her away any moment, so she was careful. Tender. Even shy.

Gods! Never had a kiss tasted like this for her! She breathed in deeply, recognised Sandor's unique scent. Now, it was her who was getting confused, befuddled even.

At the same time, Sandor was waking up slowly and starting... to respond. Sansa thought she was going to melt.

Their kiss turned deeply emotional. Still, it remained careful, controlled.

After an unfathomable period of time, Sandor pulled away. There was a warmth Sansa had never felt before emanating from him now.

Yet, he turned serious again all too soon. He flicked a short glance at her belly.

It was all too true. She had been marked by another man, and repeatedly so. She was married to that man, a friendly husband whom she had come to like, whom she considered a friend.

Sansa's heart became heavy, and she muttered: “I know. But... please believe one thing. I've never shared a kiss that was like yours. And I won't forget our kiss until the day I die.”

Then, it was Sandor who took her hand and kissed her palm.

“I'm deeply honoured I was graced with your loving touch. It was all I ever wanted to feel before I die. Only I never believed I would get to know...”

Abruptly, Sandor rose, letting go of her and rasped: “You should better go now. I'll leave for the Twins tomorrow, after Yolanda's cremation, much as I'm loath to it. Many things have to be set aright there.”

Sansa nodded.

She knew it had to be like that.

They looked at each other once more, as if they wanted to drown in each other's souls.

Then, Sansa turned around and headed for her room.

 

The next mourning, when she heard the clank of chainmail and the fading clopping of hooves under her window her cushion was soaked, and she had no tears left. Let the others think she was having one of her moods again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don't know if you'll like all the reminiscences and Brienne's... experiences, but I hope I've at least been plausible.

 

_8 months later_

 

Brienne awoke at dawn with a little sigh. She had been dreaming vividly. Like so often ghosts from the past would seek her out at night. Brienne guessed that it was what life was like, especially if you had lived through so much.

She opened her eyes and looked at Jaime, whose limbs were still entangled with hers after their passionate lovemaking in the evening. His stump, which was resting on her side, was twitching, and his sleep was troubled. Phantom pain. Again. The humid climate at Casterly Rock, directly situated at the seaside, wasn't good for him, but Jaime was stubborn, and he had wanted to come back here after Sansa had given birth.

Gently, Brienne trailed her calloused fingers through her lover's soft grey and golden locks. They were still full, despite his age, and in contrast to his father's baldness.

Jaime stirred slightly, but didn't wake up. Brienne sighed again, but this time inwardly. It was a real wonder that they had found happiness and love together after everything they had experienced. That Jaime had forgiven her her treason was the greatest miracle she could imagine. She had never forgiven herself.

 

No wonder she was having all these dreams: of Podrick and Hyle and herself being hung (her hand wandered to the scar at her neck), of herself blurting out some rubbish while choking, of them being cut down and herself being sent on her way by a vengeful, half-rotten Lady Stoneheart to catch the “Kingslayer”. If Podrick (well, and Hyle) had not been held as hostages by the Brotherhood and had not been in immediate danger of being tortured and slaughtered Brienne would have never complied.

And she had been successful. Jaime had followed her like a sheep. Lady Stoneheart had then kicked her and Hyle and Podrick out of their hideout and ordered them once again to find her daughters, or she would hang them later.

Brienne's heart hurt. She would never forget Jaime's look when he realised he had been trapped – and been betrayed by Brienne. At that time, they had not had a chance to talk about it, and, quite naturally, Jaime wouldn't have wanted any kind of excuse anyway.

How he had later managed to escape Mother Merciless and her cronies was a secret he had never told her. For good reason. In her own way she had betrayed him as much – or even worse – than Cersei, who had been sleeping with half the Red Keep in those days.

After the episode with the Brotherhood Brienne had been absolutely devastated and heart-broken, because she had thought Jaime dead. Even so, she had resolved to find the Stark girls – not because Lady Stoneheart had demanded it, but for her own reasons.

Pod had been quick to say he'd accompany her everywhere after her having saved his life.

Hyle had looked into the distance, and he had been strangely serious.

“Brienne, I've followed you around half of Westeros and I'd go on following you. Only... we've faced death together – don't you think we could face life together as well?”

Then, as an afterthought, he had grinned and told her: “Besides, I'd like to show you a sweeter death than the one Lady Stoneheart had in store for us.”

She and Pod had flushed dark red.

Well, that had clearly sounded like the Ser Hyle Hunt she had come to know, the one who had started the bet in Renly's camp with his friends about who would take her maidenhead, and she had turned her back on him.

The following night, however, she had had a major breakdown, and her guilty conscience had nearly caused her to lay a hand on herself. In that situation, Hyle had been there and had embraced and soothed and consoled her without making many words, which had been highly unusual on his part. No banter. No teasing from him. The next morning, they had not talked about it again. Three days later, they had come across a septon – and they had got married.

So finally, Hyle had won the bet he had started once. Brienne had thought she had lost her maidenhood to the saddle, and it had been painful to find out the opposite. Hyle had been gentle with her, so she couldn't blame him.

Together, the trio had set over to Braavos, because they had felt they would find Arya there. Hyle had saved her more than once from a bravo in the network of canals – and vice versa. Pod had proven effective there once more, too.

Brienne had expected Hyle to tire of her soon and to turn to some willing Braavosi women; after all, he knew about his bastard daughter, or even more illegitimate children. His experience with the Hangwoman, however, had wrought a surprising change in him: he was more serious and thoughtful than before, and often, she saw a warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there in the past. He had bedded her often, and – strange as it was – he had obviously not been thinking of the lands he had gained by marrying her, and not even putting a child into her belly had been at the forefront of his mind.

The first intimate encounters had only been a duty for Brienne, but after a while she had come to like them – as she had slowly come to like the man in general. Still, it had been strange to watch Hyle fall in love with her, knowing her affection didn't run as deep as his, and this added to her already heavy conscience.

She would have never thought him capable of such intense feelings. Jaime had only ever said about it: “Well, if he was such a cunning man it is no wonder he was able to see your innate beauty, the one which all the normal honks are blind to.”

One day, Hyle had even admitted to her: “You know... being who I am I likely won't see old age. I wish you could be at my side the day I die. It would give me peace.”

Well, the gods had seen fit to grant him his wish.

After some time and lots of searching, they had found Arya and taken her back to Westeros, to the North, and had reunited her with the remains of her family. Afterwards, Pod, Brienne and Hyle had both been sent to the Wall and fought against the Others. They had been a good team once more – until a wight had managed to kill Hyle in one of the many nasty fights.

Brienne had truly mourned her husband... until some weeks later, her path had crossed Jaime's again. He had still despised her for her treason, but in the face of an endangered mankind, they had put their conflict aside for the time being. Jaime had fought as valiantly as one might possibly expect from a man who had lost his natural sword hand.

Nevertheless, he had got into dangerous situations repeatedly – and Brienne had saved his life. Again. And again. And again.

In the end, they had sorted things out as best they could, and Jaime had forgiven her.

At that time, he had already been pardoned by Queen Daenaerys and had also been married to Sansa for a while. So when there had been passionate sparks between him and Brienne they had not given in to those primal needs. Only later, when Sansa had noticed what was going on and had signalled them she would accept an affair borne of true love, had Brienne and Jaime become lovers, and Brienne had become the Lannisters' sworn shield.

And now... well, things were the way they were. They all had their package of guilty conscience to bear, she had come to notice – though that piece of knowledge didn't alleviate her own qualms one single ounce.

 

“Mmmh,” Jaime murmured against the hollow of her neck, and Brienne couldn't help herself, but to relish the feeling of his still firm, naked skin against hers. She loved him, with an intensity and a depth that was like a bottomless abyss. It was strange how much love this hard warrior had to give – he adored her, and at the same time, he also cared for Sansa, and though both relationships were different in style his feelings were honest, something no bystander would likely ever understand, not even Brienne's father.

Jaime was also a devoted father, now that he was finally officially allowed to be one.

 

“What's that? Already awake, wench?”, he mumbled, slowly coming awake, and she could feel his breath on the freckled nape of her neck. A moment later, she could feel his lips there as well.

Her heartbeat started to increase, and with a smile, she teased him: “As awake as... certain parts of you. You will come to notice that only your brain is a little behind.”

Jaime chuckled and answered: “That's its usual state. In case you haven't noticed: my tongue, for example, is always faster than my brain.”

“I'd like to see that,” Brienne retorted and blushed with a grin.

“Ahhhh, I seeeeee”, Jaime smirked and added: “Always at your service.”

For the following hour, there was no room for dark pondering or coherent talk any more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help myself. I've go the feeling that Jaime is a bit of a dork in this chapter... Well, at least he has got a moment of self-awareness in this respect.

 

The next day, Brienne and Jaime met at the training yard in the afternoon like so often. Jaime had become really good at fighting left-handed over the years. Still. Where one man in a thousand might have bested him before the cruel amputation of his hand during the War of the Five Kings one man in a hundred would have been able to do so during the War of the Wights. And now that her Lion was getting older there were perhaps three or four in a hundred who could win a duel against him. Even so, he was still an impressive and highly capable foe.

 

However, while they were practising Brienne noticed at once that Jaime wasn't concentrated. He looked gloomy and remote. Brienne managed to disarm him in no time. CLONK, his sword landed in the trampled dirt, and Jaime swore like a bargee. At first, Brienne teased him so as to wake his spirits and to make him focus.

 

“Well, well, today you're not only one-pawed – the remaining paw seems to have lost its claws as well!”

 

Yet, where Jaime would usually have called her “wench”, in combination with another sarcastic remark, today he only growled and went on hacking more fervently, but not in a much more coordinated way. That caused Brienne to worry.

 

At the end of their practising unit she addressed her lover frankly: “Jaime, what's wrong? Is baby Lyra ill?”

 

The Lion shot her a dismal glance.

 

“No, when I left Sansa before the training the little one was suckling at her mother's breast hungrily and peacefully.”

 

“Is it Sansa then? Again?”

 

Jaime only nodded and combed with his fingers through his hair in sheer desperation.

 

He didn't have to explain – Brienne knew well enough what was going on. Ever since the day when Yolanda Frey had killed herself Sansa had been suffering from a severe melancholia. Before the birthing process Jaime had often stayed at his wife's side and also in her bedroom at night to support her and to cheer her up. From what Brienne had seen herself Sansa had been meek and accepted her husband's closeness, had probably also liked it at least to some extent – but her lightheartedness was gone.

 

At the Red Keep she would often stay at the Godswood, the sept or with the ladies who were doing needlework and remain silent and... strangely encapsulated.

 

It pained both Brienne and Jaime to see her so.

 

The only exception from her gloom was the time she passed with her children. Sansa's motherly love was unblemished – but otherwise, she didn't seem to care much about everyday occurrences any more.

 

Of course, Jaime had tried to talk to her. Brienne had attempted the same, but it had been of no avail. Sansa had only pleaded that it was just the way she felt and that she couldn't change what the heart told her. It was such a pity.

 

After Sansa had given birth Jaime had not tried to pass much time with her any more, because he had realised that it would have little effect. Brienne had felt guilty when she had been happy that Jaime was constantly at her own side now. Sansa was right: one couldn't change what the heart told you, and Brienne was no exception from the rule.

 

 

 

The warrior woman gave Jaime's mutilated arm a little squeeze to comfort him.

 

The Lion muttered then: “You know – I don't get it, wench. YOU were the one who watched that girl kill herself. Sansa didn't even see the body. Yet, you have managed to cope with that experience... and she hasn't. After everything she's been through in the past and where she has proven to be strong. It's a mystery to me.”

 

Brienne thought about it, like she had done repeatedly before; but this time, she came up with a new idea: “What if it doesn't have anything to do with the suicide?”

 

“What do you mean, wench?”

 

“Well, it wasn't the only thing that happened on that evening. Do you remember how Addam Marbrand declared that his wife had given birth?”

 

“Yes, of course I do. Sansa was very happy when she heard about it. We were dancing afterwards when we heard your scream.”

 

“Hmmm... What if both events have caused her to think about your marriage, and somehow, she felt... disappointed with the situation?”

 

“Brienne, I've often asked myself, if I'm worthy of her, but she had reflected about the state of our marriage before and it had never weighed her down. I cannot imagine how this could have changed.”

 

For a while, Brienne mulled things over again. Jaime grabbed himself a cloth and rubbed his face, which was still sweaty from the training. He was just about to leave for the bath house to clean himself thoroughly.

 

Suddenly, Brienne felt like a horse whose blinkers had been removed, and she could see clearly. Her hand flew to her mouth.

 

“What is it, Brienne?” Jaime asked suspiciously.

 

“It must have something to do with Clegane,” she breathed.

 

“Sandor?”

 

“Hmhm.”

 

Brienne could watch how this idea travelled to and finally reached Jaime's brain, and understanding dawned on his face. All of a sudden, his look was very close to the one Brienne had received when Jaime had realised her betrayal with regard to Mother Merciless.

 

Old anguish flared up in Brienne's heart – and in Jaime's it had to be new pain, judging by the context and his facial expression.

 

“Do. You. Think. They...?” he retched out.

 

Brienne pulled him into a dark corner and embraced him, not caring what any other soldier might see. People knew anyway.

 

“No, Jaime, no, I don't think so. Sansa is too decent a woman and too loyal. She likes you, and she was pregnant with your baby at the time. She'd never have given herself to someone else. Yet, she must have experienced something that upset her so deeply that it changed her mind.”

 

Jaime was as white as chalk now.

 

“Do you want to say, Clegane... forced himself upon her? I've never taken him for such a kind of man.”

 

Brienne hesitated and finally answered: “You... were with her regularly. You'd have noticed, if she had been... ravaged. And I think she'd have entrusted herself to you. No, I don't think it was THIS specific kind of experience that has come to affect her.”

 

The tall woman bethought herself again. Pondered Sansa's scanty explanation again.

 

_It was just the way she felt and she couldn't change what the heart told her._

 

In this new context, the words shone in a completely different light. Brienne started to grasp the full meaning of them. So did Jaime.

 

With extremely dilated eyes he leaned against the thick stone wall behind him and slipped to the ground. Brienne knelt and hugged him tightly.

 

“You see...,” Jaime croaked, “... I've never thought about anything like that. Yes, Sansa is loyal, and she is my wife. So I simply believed she was mine; end of story. I didn't consider anything else. She was simply there. A friend, a companion. Convenient. I was so stupid. I've always been an oaf in these things.”

 

Brienne sighed.

 

“I can't say much about that, but I've learned one thing: love and partnership aren't a kind of property; they're a loan. Until someone – perhaps the Stranger even – claims them back.”

 

Jaime shook his head in disbelief, and he uttered: “It's only now that I really start to understand just how very generous Sansa was when she realised I was falling in love with you, and she let me go and allowed us to find our own measure of happiness.”

 

Brienne and Jaime clung to each other. No words were necessary any more.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Sansa liked it that her bedroom had a big window to look out, unlike so many rooms in a fortress, and due to the thick walls of the Rock she could put some soft cushions on the window sill, sit there and look out to the sea on one side and to the Stone Garden on the other. She loved this spot. The constant rolling of the waves was soothing.

Right now, she was looking at the Stone Garden where she could hear Cat's and Tyrion's happy voices. They were playing amongst the stone carvings and rock formations. What a lovely place it was for their carefree games!

She could discern Tyrion's lively voice that reminded her of his uncle; the boy, who loved to play with language even at his young age, had obviously picked up a ribald counting-out rhyme that had been circling the Rock over the last years and was reproducing it delightedly:

 

“ _Aegon the Pretender_  
 _was never a defender,_  
 _perhaps he was a clarion,_  
 _but never a Targaryen;_  
 _he was just too loud_  
 _and he was too proud;_  
 _when he didn't stop to boast_  
 _he became a dragon's roast:_  
 _a fire from a scaly head_  
 _left the impostor crisp and and dead;_  
 _the dragons liked him with a burn -_  
 _and it's my turn!”_

 

Sansa smiled on hearing her son's enthusiasm, and she realised she had smiled far too little over the last months. She sighed and looked out to the sea, turning serious again. The crushing of the waves emptied her mind, washed away the memories that threatened to bubble up. She didn't want to forget them, but at the same time, they hurt too much to remember them.

Silently, she leaned her lips against the cool window glass.

 

Suddenly, the door to her room burst open. WHAM!

Sansa flinched, her head snapped around, and her eyes widened. Jaime was standing in the door frame, panting heavily and white in the face as if he had seen a ghost.

Before she could gather her thoughts her husband had reached her with big strides – and the next moment, she was sitting on the earth directly under the window and Jaime was kneeling in front of her and crushing her to his chest. He was trembling.

Sansa felt as if someone had walked over her grave. Jaime had not even been afraid of wights! What, in the name of the Seven, was wrong with him now? Where was Brienne? Wasn't it her task to console him?

“Jaime! Jaime! Oh gods, what is it? Talk to me, please!” she breathed, cupped his cheeks and tried to look him in the face.

His emerald eyes were clouded, his pupils dilated. There was pain in them, and Sansa was close to panic now. Desperately, she ran her hands through his hair. So did he with her tresses.

“Sansa, please promise me one thing. Please promise me you won't leave our children!”

Sansa's heart started to pound like mad. What did this all mean? Was Jaime ill? Had the maester told him some really bad news about his health?

“Jaime, what on earth are you talking about? Of course I won't leave our children!”

“Good! Good!” her husband murmured, still quite beside himself.

One heartbeat later, he had taken hold of her, put her on the bed and was pushing up her skirts with shaking hands.

“Jaime, will you please behave!? What is going on?”

But her husband wasn't in the position to explain anything.

It was like an eruption when he sobbed: “The day Cersei died and I saw her dead body and knew I had lost her I thought I'd die, too. I couldn't live through something like that again!”

Now, Sansa was even more confused. Had he received a death threat that was directed against her?

The idea Jaime could be so afraid of losing her came as a real surprise, and it was incredibly touching, because it meant he felt quite a bit for her, more than she would have thought; she started to melt and put her arms around his neck.

Jaime kissed her, and frantic hands ran over her body, one golden, one made of flesh. After two or three minutes of wild fumbling her clothes were gone. Sansa let him have his ways, and his possessiveness and passion were amazing. Suddenly, she felt more alive than she had done for months; she gave him as much as she could and reacted with an intensity she had not believed herself capable of any more.

 

Later, they lay on the bed, sweating and panting, the heat of the moment dissipating.

Jaime's facial expression changed. From one moment to the next, he looked deeply ashamed.

“I shouldn't have done this. This is so wrong. I AM wrong. Unfair. Towards all of you. Well. It was... the last time, I guess.”

Sansa looked at him, didn't understand and felt hurt.

It was then that Jaime took one of her hands and said flatly: “I'll send a raven right now. To the Twins. Did you know that Clegane has inherited his father's keep as well? So I'm his liege lord, too, not only the Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Sandor hasn't knelt in front of me yet, or pledged his fealty in any other way. Which means he has to come here to make up leeway.”

It took Sansa a moment to understand the implications of his words... but then, it dawned on her Jaime had understood. Now, it was her turn to blanch.

And she grasped something more: Jaime's behaviour during their lovemaking might have been possessive, but he had not really meant to lock her away, even less to condemn her for her feelings like any other husband would have done. In his state of shock, this had been his weird way of showing her she was important for him, for their family. And at the same time, it had been some kind of good-bye.

For a moment, Sansa could imagine Sandor's raspy comment on this moment: “Seven hells, if that is his way of taking his leave he's really fucked it up.”

Sansa smiled and squeezed Jaime's hand.

“You do that. And on your way back to Brienne – stop in the Stone Garden and ask our son about the new counting-out rhyme he has learned.”

The faintest echo of a smirk stole across Jaime's face momentarily.

“Don't tell me he's learned the rhyme about Aegon!”

“The very same!”

Jaime and Sansa both chuckled, and Sansa thought that it good that they could still able to laugh together. After all, they'd always be parents, no matter what happened between them.

Jaime donned his clothes, they both inclined their heads, her husband spun on his heels, and off he walked to the rookery. He was in the process of regaining his normal face colour.

In the strangest possible way, Sansa felt as if her life had become more colourful again as well.


	11. Chapter 11

 

***

 

A week later, Brienne was still angry with Jaime – and also hurt, after his reaction when he had found out about Sansa and Clegane. He was a wonderful man most of the time – but sometimes, he was such a douche! Brienne had also barred him out from her bed, even if it meant that he'd sleep in Sansa's room in the meantime.

At least, the two spouses seemed to have sorted things out – whatever that meant. Sansa was returning to her old self and much livelier again, which was worth a lot. Jaime was uncharacteristically quiet and serious, but they seemed to get along better... although there was a new distance between them as well. Brienne couldn't quite understand her contradictory impressions and said to herself that time would tell.

 

She was just in the training yard and practising with a bleary-eyed, slightly awkward young Ser Amber, who had obviously looked too deep into his tankard the night before, when she saw Sansa approach, laughing, and a happily jumping little Cat dancing around her mother's skirts.

Suddenly, however, the little girl focused on the tall warrior woman, ran ahead and crowed merrily: “Brienne! Brienne! Come here! Listen!”

Ser Amber, who had already received more than his share of bruises, was very grateful for the interruption and stepped back, trailing his sword after him (for this unforgivable treatment of a precious weapon Brienne would have smacked him on a different occasion, but now, her mind was focused on something else).

“Lady Sansa, what is it? You and Cat look truly happy!”

Sansa nodded and started to explain: “We've got two ravens, one from King's Landing and one from Winterfell. Arya and Ser Davos are sailing here after they've completed their task for Queen Daenaerys. And Rickon is coming south with his young wife for their honeymoon, since everything is so peaceful in Winterfell at the moment after the winter has ended. Coldhands will supervise everything in their absence.”

Brienne thought it strange that the only undead person who had survived the War of the Wights was now the castellan of Winterfell, as it sounded, but the man on his elk had served Bran and later proven his steadfastness and competence to Rickon as well when he had saved the youngster from no less then four wights one day. Apart from that, Coldhands was the emissary of the Children of the Forest. So he had earned himself some respect, in spite of his... physical state and his unknown past that only revealed he had been a Black Crow before his natural death.

 

Brienne blinked, came back with her thoughts to the training yard and found she was looking forward to the guests who were on their way.

Cat, who didn't remember her uncle Rickon Stark, the recent Warden of the North, was singing: “Auntie Arry and Uncle Onion! Auntie Arry and Uncle Onion!”

Brienne was smiling now, too.

“Ah, that's good! Dark wings, but no dark words this time.”

Sansa agreed: “Yes, indeed. Oh, and Dany has written that Ser Addam, Lady Shireen and little Daven will be on the ship as well.”

“Ha, that will be a merry meeting here at the Rock! Has the queen also mentioned something about Prince Jehaerys?”

“Her boy is fine and always hungry, just like Lyra. And she says that Jon is going on her nerves with his fatherly pride.”

“No wonder, what with the boy's typical Stark look. The north will love the prince at once when he travels to Winterfell for the first time.”

“A lot of water will flow down the Trident until then, and now, we've got to prepare a welcome feast!”

“Where's Jaime? Has he heard already?” Brienne asked.

Sansa shrugged and answered: “I don't know, but I don't think so. Haven't seen him all day. Didn't he want to ride out and inspect the Goldcloaks in Lannisport today? When I woke up in the morning he was already gone. I thought he had talked to you.”

Brienne snorted: “And thus, the golden Lion turns into a lone wolf. Who would have ever thought that? – Ah, but speaking of the devil... look who's coming back on his posh courser.”

“DADDY!!” Cat yelled delightedly and started to run.

When Jaime arrived with his daughter on his arm he tried to be an epitome of civilised politeness, knowing full well he still had to get back into certain good graces again – only with unruly little Cat around, who was giving him one hearty kiss after the next and Shadowlint emerging from somewhere and sniffling around him Brienne and Sansa could only laugh, and Jaime had the decency to blush.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Two weeks later, Davos Seaworth, Arya, Addam Marbrand, Shireen and their little son arrived, and there was a major welcome feast, as it had been planned. The old Onion's face with its grizzled hair was even more weather-beaten than in the past, and he was really growing old now, but he had still this warm, proud light in his eyes when he looked at the fierce, young woman he had practically adopted as his daughter. Though the question who had actually adopted whom was probably debatable.

Addam Marbrand was dealing out companionable japes at Jaime's expense, and the man's copper hair was glistening in the sun. Lady Shireen's eyes were shining just as brightly, she was radiant, so that her misshapen, partly scaly grey face was forgotten instantly. Little Daven was a lovely, chubby little cherub, very healthy and surprisingly strong for his age; everybody laughed when he tugged on Jaime's golden hand and accidentally pulled it off.

Podrick Payne had been on the ship as well, and Brienne was especially happy to see him again. The young man didn't breathe a word about their secret mission in Braavos, of course, but Brienne could see that something was weighing him down, so she took him aside on the first possible occasion.

“Pod, what is it?” she asked.

He sighed.

“You know me too well, you know? It's Arya.”

Brienne understood at once, she had already seen the development before.

“You love her?”

A curt, almost defiant nod.

“And she wants to stay independent?”

Another nod.

Plus some more information: “She... doesn't want to bind herself to someone beside her family. She's willing to... pass some time with me. Or with this smith in King's Landing. Or some two other men in Braavos. But not more. She told me so a long while ago.”

“Oh my. Poor Pod.”

Brienne patted the man's shoulder awkwardly. She pitied him, and she pitied Arya as well. The young Stark woman had experienced so many hardships that she wasn't capable of a normal, lasting relationship any more, and even less of settling down. She was a real lone wolf now, and just as wild.

Pod was looking so miserable, Brienne thought. Oh, how she would have liked to help him!

So Brienne said: “Arya won't change, you know. You should part ways, and you should try to... find someone else, for the sake of your house.”

Pod's jaws worked, until he uttered: “The smith in King's Landing could do it, I've heard. Took a wife, he did. I guess he's more practical than me. No. That's not my way. I'm like the Blackfish.”

Brienne breathed deeply. The story of Ser Brynden Tully had only been revealed at the end of the War of the Wights. Somehow, the old Trout had managed to survive the Red Wedding and to re-emerge when he was needed to fight some undead monsters. And when the last battle had been won, he had returned to the Riverlands... and married a widow of comparatively humble status. It had turned out he had always loved her all these years from afar, as she had loved him, without ever giving in to their feelings, because the woman had been married to someone else. It was one of the big love stories of the realm, and bards had started to write songs about it.

And now Pod had resolved to rather wait as well, however minimal the chances of success, rather than to bind himself to someone else. Honourable, steadfast Pod. Brienne's heart went out to him. He'd be such a good husband for Arya, if only the situation was different.

The warrior woman squeezed the young man's arm. No more words were necessary.

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to update for some days/ a while now. Various real life missions ahead. Just wanted to let you know.


	13. Chapter 13

At first sight, Lord Davos Seaworth seemed to be a merry widower, his grey hair fluttering in the wind, a seafarer like always, and with dry humorous comments at the ready whenever Arya told one of her lewd jokes she had learned the-gods-knew-where. And her younger sister was confident and loud, she laughed and joked a lot. However, at times Sansa could see a deep sadness in the old Onion's eyes, borne of the fact that he had lost all his children and now even his wife. It was a wonder he had not lost his mind in the face of so many tragedies. From what she had heard he had never managed to see his beloved wife again once the War of the Five Kings had started, and if she was informed correctly, at least one of his dead sons had fallen during the Battle of the Blackwater.

Sansa sighed, her thoughts trailed further, and she remembered the day when she and the queen's party had found a freezing, starving, dying Stannis in the snows of the north. The red sorceress, who had been travelling with them, who had killed so many wights with her fire, and who had nearly lost all her powers by then, had dashed to her former master's side. No-one had ever seen as much gentleness in her eyes as when she had been trying to give him strength... but to no avail; he had already been too weak and the Stranger had been looming up behind him – so in the end, the red woman had gathered the last sparks of magic she had been able to find within herself, and she and Stannis had turned into a lance of white light that had risen into the sky of the Second Long Night. It had been spectacular to behold, even touching in a way, but Daenaeris had been unmoved.

Stannis had been a lot, but certainly not a friend of any kind, so she had just said: “And there disappears Drogon's dinner. Well, I guess he wouldn't have been nourishing anyway.”

When Sansa thought of that day, she asked herself whether it was good or not that Ser Davos had not seen Stannis Baratheon die, the man whom he had served faithfully for years. Right now, she was happy to see that whenever the old Onion looked at Arya his features came alive with warmth again. The two had both lost so much that their identities had nearly been eradicated, so they kind of understood each other in ways no-one else could; as a consequence, they had taken to each other and started to sail through the ups and downs of life together.

Sansa really asked herself now which kind of relationship they had. As friends? As father and daughter? Or was there also an intimate component in it, despite the huge age difference? Well, in the end, it was of little relevance, as long as they were good for each other. Besides, it wasn't Sansa's right to judge her little sister. Arya had always had her own ways – and since Sansa didn't scorn her for them any more, they got along so much better!

True enough, Arya kept her distance towards Jaime, but she had slowly come to accept him, because he had always cared well for Sansa. Apart from that, Arya loved Catelyn, Young Tyrion and Little Addam, and now, she started at once to extend her feelings to Little Lyra. Impatient Tyrion ran up to her and pestered her: “Auntie Arry, Auntie Arry! Have you brought me anything along from your travels?”

Arya grinned and answered: “You're a greedy little lion, do you know that? But since greedy little lions are nothing new to me – let my look into my knapsack...”

The children squealed happily in anticipation and hopped up and down.

Not a minute later, a beaming Tyrion dashed into Sansa's direction onto his too short legs and he was holding a colourful Braavosi book about dragons in his hands.

“Look, mother! Look what I've got from Auntie Arry!”

Sansa laughed, and Tyrion jumped into her outstretched arms.

Catelyn got a fine little knife with email inlays, and at once, she crowed merrily: “Ha! Now I'm a pirate princess!” And she stabbed the air with her small hands determinedly.

Addam got a wooden jumping jack in Braavosi style. The toy suddenly reminded Sansa of how Sandor Clagane's face had been burned, and she grew serious – but not for long.

To her surprise, Arya turned to Brienne, handing her a nice new scabbard, and to Jaime to give him a fine leather belt. Finally, her little sister stepped towards her and said: “I'll never understand why people fuss so much about them, but, well, here they are, I think you'll like them.”

And then, she pressed some precious pearls into Sansa's hands.

“Oh Arya! How very mindful of you! They're gorgeous!”

The sisters embraced.

Jaime laughed then, too, and asked: “How long will you stay?”

“Two months, perhaps, if we all manage to stand each other and don't get bored on land.”

“Be our guests, be our guests, and our home will be yours, too!”

Arya answered: “Well, Davos and me, we certainly want to find out how fit you all are with a sword. Ser Addam has already proven himself on board, but I want to see Brienne's status, too – and whether an ageing lion can still hold a weapon.”

Jaime smirked jovially and shot back: “Ah, I'll give you a hard time in the training yard, I promise. And so will Catelyn. She's getting really good with her wooden sword, you'll see. But for now, let's see how fit you are when it comes to holding an ale tankard. To the great hall! A nice welcome feast is awaiting you all!”

Arya only snorted at her brother-in-law: “I can drink you under the table any day!”

Addam chortled and called: “A bet! A bet! – I'll put my stakes on Jaime Lannister!”

“Pah!” Ser Davos cut in good-naturedly: “Arya will be the last man – or rather woman – standing!”

There was more laughter around them, and people placed their bets.

In the end, it never became quite clear who won the combat drinking during the lusty welcome feast: Sansa had long gone to bed, and so had Addam Marbrand and his Shireen. Brienne and many others had fallen asleep, because they had gotten themselves drunk, too – and Arya and Jaime had been so pissed that they had both had a blackout, and they claimed the victory each without remembering what had actually occurred.

Sansa could only shake her head and smile inwardly, knowing for sure that the organisation of the Rock would be left to her for the next two days now, hangover-stricken as the others were.

And when Tyrion commented: “Father and Auntie Arry look like cheese wheels!”, she laughed and asked: “What would you say, which type of cheese is it?”

And her oh-so-witty son screwed up his face, bethought himself and finally offered with a giggle: “Old goat cheese from the Vale!”

They both had a fit of laughter, and Sansa thought how very proud her first husband would have been of his nephew now, a nephew who came more after him than after his real father. Well, it was all in the family blood. She only hoped her son would have a happier life, and not end alone in a chamber in the Red Keep, left behind by those fighting the wights, and dying miserably of a normally harmless fever.

“At least, Tyrion got a chance to ride a dragon during his lifetime, that was always his dream.”

The next moment, Sansa was woken from her reverie by Cat, who was tugging at the tunic of a pale-faced Brienne, who was more than a little queasy, too, asking her to do some knife training in the yard with her new little weapon. Sansa grinned, when the tall warrior woman declined groggily, and Cat switched her energy to scrambling merrily with Shadowlint.

It was nice to have so many people Sansa cared for around her. And come to think of it: she hoped there would be two more important people at Casterly Rock in the near future.


	14. Chapter 14

 

Not many days later, the first important one of the two arrived: Rickon. He arrived with his young wife, Lyanna Mormont, who had been named after Lyanna Stark, late Maege Mormont's youngest daughter. So after their wedding, Winterfell castle finally knew a Lyanna Stark again, and the northerners were very happy about this.

Under other circumstances, Lord Rickon might still have been deemed too young for a marriage, but Lyanna was some years older than him and very capable, like all the Mormont women, which had caused the other lords in the north to accept the arrangement.

What made Sansa really happy was that Rickon adored her. She was strong and confident, not a gentle lady from the south. No wonder that young, wild Rickon, who had lived on the uncivilised island of Skagos for years, had taken a liking to her.

Sansa embraced her little brother heartily, and she ruffled and patted Shaggydog's dark fur, which caused the huge, feral, deadly direwolf to look around in an embarrassed way, as if he wanted to say: “Hopefully, no-one thinks me a harmless pup now – or I'll bite off his head!”

Arya pulled her little brother into a tight embrace, too, and the Starks sat down together and talked and exchanged their news.

Rickon laughed: “You won't believe it, but Hodor – he's got a child!”

“WHAT!?” Sansa and Arya gaped in unison, and Arya went on: “But he's so... clueless he doesn't even know what “fucking” and “relationship” and “pregnancy” and “fatherhood” mean!

“Aaaah,” Rickon commented in a precocious way, “you see, he doesn't have a normal sense of shame either and still often runs around naked in the Godswood.”

“I remember him doing that”, Sansa admitted.

“Yes,” Rickon went on, “and he's quite well-endowed, as it is plain to see. One of the many wildling women, Ulay, became attracted to that. As far as I know Hodor is confused about the fucking part, but enthusiastic, and he sees it as some kind of a special game.”

“Well, he isn't wrong there,” Arya cut in, chuckling.

Premature Rickon snorted: “True. Anyway, people know now that they better shouldn't enter the Godswood when they hear a regular “hodor-hodor-hodor-hodor-hodor” in it – not, if they want to avoid a certain... scene. Caused quite a bit of a fuss especially amongst the women folk in the beginning. But you can say what you want – in his simple way, Hodor adores Ulay, and she... well... appreciates his “competences”. And the child, a girl named Assya, is a sweet one. Quite tall and strong already for her age, but with her mother's intelligence.”

Sansa and Arya were still grinning and shaking their heads in disbelief. So even the tall, simple-minded stable-boy had settled down in his own way!

Of course, Arya had to be the frank one of them again and asked: “And what about you and Lyanna? Is she with child already?”

Rickon shook his head and answered with a grin like a fox in the hen-coop: “Not that I know of – but we've still got time, haven't we?”

So their chatter went on, and Sansa was incredibly happy to be reunited with parts of her family. Later, Rickon rode out with Ser Davos. The two had a special relationship ever since the Old Onion had taken care of and brought the lad back from Skagos. Sansa didn't know many details, but that wasn't really necessary. One only had to see the two of them together to get the impression that the former smuggler had actually adopted two Stark children in his heart.

 

Three days later, Sansa was just playing with little Lyra, Arya dashed into her room, eyes wide and completely out of breath.

“Sister! Hh-hh-hh. You must come... hh-hh-hh... to the main yard... hh-hh-hh! Guess who's just... hh-hh-hh... dismounted his dark demon horse... hh-hh-hh ! It's the Hound! Hh-hh-hh. And still as huge and incredibly ugly as always... hh-hh-hh.”

Hoppadihopp-hoppadihopp, Sansa's heart stuttered as if she were a teenage girl romanticising about a shining knight like Ser Loras had been one before his death. But Sansa wasn't thinking of flowers. She was thinking of dogs. One dog... who wasn't a dog any more, to be precise.

Sandor! Oh, she couldn't wait to see him again!

And the woman who had been a little bird once pressed Lyra into Arya's arms with a bright smile, knowing her daughter would be safe – and started to fly.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating this story so rarely. Too much real life and too many SanSan projects at the moment...

Minutes later, she was down in the yard. The first thing she saw was her husband welcoming Sandor. Jaime tried to be polite, even friendly, but it wasn't quite his natural joviality. Sansa could see at once that he was greeting the man whom she had come to love awkwardly; Jaime still had to reassess their new situation.

Sandor was serious and gruff as usual, but not insulting – and Sansa could also detect that he was already smelling the rat that Jaime had found out about their mutual feelings. Well, Sandor had always been good at reading people's moods and intentions.

But then, he must have heard something, or seen a movement from the corner of his eyes, for he looked up and saw her approach. At once, there was a light in his eyes that betrayed his emotions for her so clearly that Jaime would have understood at once, if he had not known already.

Still, Sansa kept up appearances, smiled politely, held out her hand like a true lady awaiting a gentleman's homage and chirped: “Lord Clegane! How wonderful to see you again! I hope that the voyage hasn't been too tiresome. Please be welcome at Casterly Rock!”

At once, a cloud of sullenness seemed to form above his head, and in her mind she remembered his tone when had snarled: “I'm no ser!” in the past – only this time, he couldn't say anything against the title, because he WAS a lord now. Though apparently he still didn't like it one whit.

“Lady Lannister,” Sandor answered flatly without taking her fingers and kissing the back of her hand.

Jaime cleared his throat and cut in: “Sansa, my dear, I have already told him where his guest room is and who is visiting us at the moment. He has already seen Arya for a moment, but tonight, we'll have a dinner where he can meet and talk to everyone.”

Sansa nodded and tried to appear calmer than she was.

“I see, Jaime. – Lord Clegane, I guess you'll want to refresh yourself. Shall I lead you to your room?”

Sandor tried not to swear, or to sound too impolite, but he was reserved and retorted: “No, that won't be necessary. I've lived here for years. I know my way.”

Sansa tried not to feel hurt – to no avail.

Nevertheless, she inclined her head and answered meekly: “As you wish. We'll meet you at dinner in the Great Hall then.”

Sandor nodded curtly and stomped off, his long, dark hair fluttering in the wind.

 

When he had disappeared Jaime spoke to Sansa: “Taciturn and recluse and moody as always, isn't he?”

Sansa sighed: “He doesn't know what's awaiting him. That weighs him down.”

Jaime uttered a little sad snort and muttered: “He's not the only one who's feeling like that.”

Those words had an impact on Sansa as well, so she took her husband's good hand and squeezed it lightly.

“I'll return to Lyra now. Now matter what's happening, I'm the mother of our children, and I still care for you, too.”

For a moment, Jaime leaned his forehead against hers. They were still friends, and Sansa hoped that it would always stay like that.

After a few seconds, they both withdrew and walked back to their personal wing since Jaime wanted to pass some time with Lyra and the other children as well.

Her husband mused: “I'll be interested to hear how things are in the Riverlands and at the Twins at the moment. Oh, and by the way – I wonder when he'll figure out that his guest room is just down the corridor from our chambers.”

Sansa blushed fiercely. She had already noticed her husband's orders when the servants had been bustling about in their wing to prepare everything. However, she didn't comment on this for a moment and she noticed that Jaime was finally smirking again while they were coming closer to their private wing.

Only then did she tease him good-naturedly: “Ah, and I wonder when he'll figure out that our bedrooms are close to Brienne's one as well, and that it's usually empty at night these days.”

Jaime uttered a short chuckle and admitted: “Touché, my lady, touché. – Oi, what's that? Do I hear him swear already?”

Somehow, the mood between them was suddenly as if they were children who had concocted a prank, and Sansa was very, very grateful for her husband's liberal attitude.

“Seven bloody hells!” they heard a dark, raspy voice holler from a nearby guest room, and Sansa's heart skipped a beat, because she was so happy to hear Sandor come back a little to his old self.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for reference to sexual content at the end of the chapter.
> 
> And I'm sorry it's such a short chapter again. Somehow, other stories flow more easily...

 

They returned to their suite, because Jaime wanted to play with little Lyra. It was sweet to see the baby with her father. He had not been allowed to be a father for Cersei's and his children, and Robert had cared more for drink and womanising than for Tommen or Myrcella or Joffrey, and had only ever looked at them with shallow benevolence from time to time. The mislead education had brought out the worst sides in Joffrey.

Jaime had often looked at the scars on Sansa's back and cursed and blamed himself loudly, even if Sansa had never done so. Over the years, he had tried to make good on her and their children then, and seeing him and Lyra together, both laughing, eyes bright and babbling in baby language Sansa was grateful for what they had as a family.

Suddenly, Jaime looked up at her and his smile changed a little, became more careful though it was still honest and gentle.

“You should go and look after him, Sansa. He'll have finished his bath now and behave more reasonably.”

Sansa blushed. It was such a weird situation to be told by a husband that you should go and see the man you had fallen in love with. They had had these awkward moments when Jaime had started to meet Brienne, too, and they had always been open and sincere about their feelings, so it had never been very difficult for her... but their current reversed roles made things somehow embarrassing for Sansa. It was against her inner moral code to betray a husband.

“I hope Sandor will be more sensible indeed. Perhaps we should give him some more time...”

“Sansa.”

Jaime let go of Lyra for a moment, got up, stood in front of her and tipped up her chin with his fingers. He offered her one of his typical golden smirks, and that triggered off a nervous fluttering feeling in her stomach.

“In case you haven't noticed, my dear – that man is starving. I'm pretty sure he needs an appetizer before the welcome feast in the evening. Don't you fear a thing from me. You've accepted Brienne, and if you'll just give me a little time I'll get along with Clegane, too. Aren't we all grown people?”

Sansa flushed crimson now.

“I... I know. It's just... It's just...”

Jaime chuckled: “Sweetest wife, I'm flattered by your decency and your sense of duty. And though I'm not even half as decent and half as dutiful as you I can tell you I felt the same when I fell for Brienne. I guess that's why we're getting on so well, you and me: we both have a soft spot for grumpy, big, ugly warriors.”

He prodded her nose with his good index finger, grinned impishly and murmured: “And now – be gone! A certain Hound is waiting for you, I'm sure. As much as you're in need of him, if you're honest.”

Having that said, he took her by the shoulders, turned her around and shoved her out the door without further ado.

 

Sansa was standing alone in the corridor, and her heart was hopping wildly by then. She needed another minute; after that, she squared her shoulders, walked over to Sandor's room and knocked hesitantly.

Inside, there was a loud curse and some movement.

“Fuck, I hate these servants”, Sandor was growling, and before Sansa could correct him, the door flew open. The huge, scarred man appeared in the door... with only his towel around his hips and his dark hair still wet from the bath. Sansa gasped and stared, her gaze wandered down the trail of hair on his powerful torso, she detected the first grey curls there... and then, she saw the bulge under the flimsy fabric.

“Gods, he's been pleasuring himself!” she realised in shock, her eyes as big as saucers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for bawdy language, a bit of sexual content and a surreal dream. ;-)  
> I'm not quite sure, if the rating "T" is still ok, or if it should be changed to "M", but hm, I'm not describing it clearly...

Later in the evening, during the feast, Brienne addressed Sansa, who was sitting next to her since Brienne didn't have to do her duties as a sworn shield that night. She smiled at her friend and simply asked under her breath: “Well?”

Sansa flushed a deep red, screwed up her eyes and whispered back: “Not you, too! Jaime has been teasing me before the meal already!”

They both shot short looks at Sandor Clegane, who was sitting close by as a guest of honour, and who was talking to Ser Davos Seaworth at the moment. The two men seemed to get along well and were absorbed in a discussion about Lannisport harbour. They seemed totally oblivious to the fact that basically everyone at the table was looking from Clegane to Lady Sansa and back. Jaime was smirking shamelessly, and Arya's mocking gaze wasn't any better.

“And what has Jaime been saying?” Brienne wanted to know.

“Sweet Mother!” Sansa cursed under her breath. “You don't want to know it.”

Brienne chuckled back: “Which means I'm really interested now. Come on!”

Sansa wrung her hand under the table and hissed then: “Argh! Well. You've asked for it. He said he remembered what Sandor looks like under his clothes from their joint military campaigns. And he added he could understand that I was preferring Sandor now – and that he must prevent you from ever seeing Sandor naked, lest he not lose you to him as well.”

Brienne choked on a sip of Arbor Gold then and coughed loudly. Jaime looked at her and Sansa then, smirked and asked nonchalantly: “Lady talk?”

And then he laughed and was enjoying himself mightily, even more so since Brienne and Sansa were both sporting a distinct shade of rootbeet red now. Sandor looked up from his conversation, took in the scene and growled: “Having a good time, one-paw?”

“Oh, certainly, certainly, my dearest Lord Hound. Though it'll be MY personal... climax when you'll be kneeling in front of me and swearing your fealty on the morrow.”

“Judging by the way you're saying it I'll better keep my safety clearance. And I hope you can still keep the different kinds of “swords” apart, a confusion might be kind of embarrassing,” Sandor growled and sounded more and more like his former self again.

Laughter flared up on the dais and Brienne was somehow transferred back to the time when she had still been a maid, so embarrassed was she. Sansa didn't seem to fare any better – one could barely differentiate between her hair and her skin colour any more.

Luckily, Ser Addam Marbrand saved them by asking: “By the way, Lord Clegane, what I've wanted to ask you all evening: How are things going at the Twins?”

The man who had used to be the Lannister Hound answered with a stony face: “That unholy complex of buildings across that damned river has caused enough grief. I'm erecting a new building on land and tearing down the old structures, with the exception of the bridge, of course.”

Everyone was gaping then.

Arya gasped: “What are you doing?”

And Clegane retorted coldly: “You're remembering the Red Wedding like me, aren't you? Do you think I want to live in such a place? And anyway, I'm not sure I want to live there at all.”

Jaime cleared his throat, flicked the tiniest glance at Sansa and said: “Well, Clegane, you still have your father's keep, and you are always welcome here at the Rock.”

The former warrior inclined his head to show his thanks and simply rumbled darkly: “My lord.”

Just at that moment, the next course was being served: partridges stuffed with chestnuts and herbs, mushrooms in sour cream and onion-and-bacon dumplings.

Brienne was only too happy to be able to refocus and loaded her plate with all the delicacies on offer. As a woman who was doing intensive sword training every day it was normal to be hungry and to show it. One of the advantages if you weren't considered a lady was that you could eat like a man, and Jaime had told her more than once that he liked to watch her tear into a drumstick with a healthy appetite.

 

After the tables had had been cleared of the food and set aside the dancing started. Brienne didn't like it, just like she didn't like to wear dresses on festive occasions, but even if Jaime was a little handicapped with his golden hand he still loved to swirl a woman around on the dance floor; so she watched him first dance with Sansa as it was proper, and then, she had to endure a round herself.

While she tried to keep her rhythm as best she could Jaime was completely at ease, and suddenly, he murmured into her ear: “Sansa and Clegane – they still haven't fucked.”

“Pardon!?” Brienne gasped.

Jaime shook his head in puzzlement and went on: “No, honestly. Look at the two of them! Still watching each other like hawks. I don't have a clue what's wrong now. I mean – I pushed Sansa basically into his arms. What on earth can they still be waiting for?”

At once, Brienne scolded Jaime: “You're a golden-haired blockhead, do you know that? Just imagine it: could you bed me just like that with everyone basically having their noses in our bed?”

Of course, her Lion had to understand it in his very own way: “My lady, you're giving me ideas. I might consider throwing you over my shoulder. At least we'd be in the midst of attention then and our turtle doves could finally find out how to stick the spit into the roast.”

Brienne wanted to slap him badly on the arm then and there, but naturally it was impossible. So she waited until the dance ended and distanced herself from her lover as soon as possible.

A short while later, she found herself side by side with Sansa once more.

“Is everything all right, my lady?”

“Yes, of course, Brienne, why do you ask?”

The tall woman coughed and mumbled: “Erm, I know it's none of my business, only... you and Clegane... you don't look... any closer than you did before.”

Sansa sighed: “Is it that obvious? And no, you may ask me about these things, we're friends after all, aren't we? Well... Sandor and me, we ARE closer in some ways. We talked all afternoon and sorted some things out.”

Brienne gaped and sputtered: “What!? You've been waiting for each other for ages and you've just been talking?”

Sansa blushed again and answered: “Oh, I might... confirm that Sandor is a very... impressive man. In all respects. Only he's... well... kind of touchy. You know... I think he hasn't been with a woman for years, probably since before the Quiet Isle.”

“Oh.” Brienne was dumbstruck, and it took her a moment to go on: “I see. And now he's overwhelmed with your presence.”

Sansa nodded, embarrassed and judging by her introspective look clearly remembering a scene from the afternoon. Had they tried something and it had gone amiss somehow?

Ah, Brienne didn't want to pry into the matter any further. She knew where the limits were, even if she had been allowed closer than normal Westerosi circumstances would have permitted between a lady and her sworn shield. She just hoped that everything would be settled over the next days.

In the course of the evening she drank more than she had intended and than she was accustomed to. Finally, Jaime had to half carry her to her room, which wasn't easy for him with his golden hand.

Brienne slurred: “Nah, don'tcha worry, don't need no help. Hicks.”

Jaime's answer was a chuckle: “Oh, I'm not worrying. Quite the contrary. Since your reflexes are so much slower in your befuddled state I'll be able to win the impending “sparring session”. Which is a good thing since I don't want to sleep alone tonight, with Sansa having the Hound wagging his tail.”

“Jaime. You're an ass,” Brienne declared drunkenly.

Jaime, who wasn't quite sober himself, could only laugh: “Ha, so you're telling me some more direct truths when you're pissed. Right – keep them coming!”

Together, they lurched into her room, fell onto the bed, had a short, lusty joust with still half their clothes on and fell asleep directly afterwards. The last thing Brienne heard before she drifted off were Jaime's first happy snores.

She still managed to think: “Should pinch his nose...” – and then, her eyes closed, leaving her to a jumbled dream where she went on making love to Jaime... on a bed in the training yard, and strangely enough, there were many noses lying on and next to the mattress, and a crisp roast on a spit was singing: “Come into my castle!”


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, Brienne slept longer than usually and when she finally awoke, she was alone in bed and suffering from a major hangover. Muttering complaints about the effects of Arbor gold she washed herself and splashed cold water into her face. That helped to revive her. Then, she donned her clothes and light armour. Next, she walked over to Sansa's and Jaime's bedroom, hoping to find the Lady of Lannister to discuss today's duties as a sworn shield.

The door to the bedroom was only ajar, so Brienne opened it where she would have usually knocked. To her surprise the chamber was empty. The warrior woman looked around and was just about to close the door and to leave when she discovered something: on the window sill where Lady Sansa liked to sit there was a slightly crumpled piece of paper with some irregular lines on it.

Brienne didn't mean to spy, but approached the window to have a short look... to see if everything was all right. When she came closer her homely face with the ugly scar where she had been bitten so long ago split into a wide smile. The paper was a child's drawing, obviously little Tyrion's one. The boy loved to draw; he was already good at it, Brienne would actually not have drawn anything better with her huge, rough hands, and the sketch she was holding showed a lion and a knight.

 

“Everything all right, wench?” she suddenly heard Jaime's voice from the corridor.

“Yes, I'm fine, I've just discovered Tyrion's latest piece of art.”

“Let me see.”

Jaime walked over to her side and took the piece of paper into his good hand. For a moment, he smiled proudly. Then, however, a sad, pained expression stole into his eyes.

He murmured: “Tommen liked to draw lions, too. And cats. Always cats. And Myrcella – she'd have written a nice fairy-tale for Tyrion's picture, just to please him.”

Brienne put a hand on Jaime's shoulder and squeezed it. She wished that his second son and his daughter would have survived the times of war. It had to be horrible to outlive your own children. Distractedly, Brienne's gaze wandered out of the window and towards the Stone Garden... and and with a snap, she focused and stiffened.

“What, wench?”

Jaime was alert at once, all warrior instincts coming alive within a heartbeat.

“Look!” Brienne whispered.

So Jaime turned his head and saw it, too. He started to smirk again and chuckled.

“Ha! Now look and see who's down there and has forgotten the world around! Well, our turtle doves seem to have made some progress overnight.”

And it was true. In the most remote corner of the Stone Garden, a spot that could normally not be seen easily, Sansa was sitting on Sandor Clegane's lap, and they were embracing and kissing and smiling at each other as if they were the only people in the world.

“Aren't you jealous?” Brienne asked.

Jaime bethought himself for a moment and finally shook his head.

“To be honest – I thought I'd be, but I'm not. I mean... look at them! I can't envy them their joy. I've only ever seen Sansa so happy with a newborn child in her arms. And I guess something new has been born between them now, too. Besides... I've got you! Sansa will always have a place in my heart, but you're the one who makes me grin like a lovesick fool. Or who makes me curse you a stubborn wench.”

He put his golden hand around her waist, and Brienne giggled: “Were we as embarrassing as them when we first came together?”

Jaime pretended to be deadly serious and teased her: “Who says we're not as embarrassing as them even now, given that you and me are part of the relationship?”

Brienne slapped his arm and retorted: “You're unspeakable!”

Jaime laughed, nuzzled the nape of her neck with his lips and murmured: “Which just proves my point!”

Brienne was left giggling again.

Finally, she managed to say: “I always thought we were happy the way it was, but I guess we will be even happier now – because Sansa will be happier than she was.”

Jaime nodded, turning serious.

“Yes. Sansa and Sandor, too. It's like a puzzle where the last piece has been fit in to turn an already nice picture into a perfect one.”

Brienne mused: “I'm not quite sure about that. For us it may be true. But think of Pod and Arya, for example. Pod's love is still unrequited.”

Jaime sighed then and answered: “Well, I guess that's the complexity and difficulty, but also the beauty of the Game of Life – it's never quite finished.”

 

The End


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